Beate switched on the projector and an image of a face with closed eyes and a mask of something like red spaghetti appeared on the screen.
'What you see here is an illustration of our facial musculature,' she began. 'Muscles we use to form expressions and thereby change our appearance. The most important are located in the forehead, around the eyes and around the mouth. For example, this is the musculus frontalis, which, along with the musculus corrugator supercilii, is used to raise and furrow the eyebrows. The orbicularis oculi is used to close the eyelids or create folds in the part of the face around the eyes. And so on.'
Beate pressed the remote control. The image was replaced by one of a clown with large inflated cheeks.
'We have hundreds of muscles like these in our faces and even those whose job it is to pull faces use just a tiny percentage of the options available. Actors and entertainers train facial muscles to achieve maximum movement which we others lose as a rule at a young age. However, even actors and mime artists tend to use the face for imitative movements to express certain emotions. And, important as they are, they are quite universal and few in number. Anger, happiness, being in love, surprise, a chuckle, a roar of laughter and so on. Nature, though, has given us this mask of muscles to make several million, indeed, an almost unlimited number of facial expressions. Concert pianists have trained the link between brain and finger musculature to such an extent that they can perform ten different simultaneous operations, independently of each other. And we don't even have many muscles in our fingers. So what is the face not capable of?'
Beate moved on to the clip of Christo Stankic outside the ATM.
'Well, we are capable of this for example.'
The film advanced in slow motion.
'The changes are almost imperceptible. Tiny muscles are being tensed and slackened. The result of the small muscle movements is a changed expression. Does the face change that much? No, but the part of the brain that recognises faces – the fusiform gyrus – is very, very sensitive to even minor changes, since its function is to distinguish between thousands of physiologically similar faces. Via the facial muscles' gradual adjustments we end up with what seems to be a different person. Viz., this.'
The recording froze as it reached the last frame.
'Hello! This is Earth calling Mars.'
Harry recognised the voice of Magnus Skarre. Someone laughed, and Beate blushed.
'Sorry,' Skarre said, looking round him with a self-satisfied chuckle. 'That's still the Stankic dago. Science fiction is entertaining but guys who tense a bit here and slacken a bit there and become unrecognisable, that's a trifle far-fetched, if you ask me.'
Harry was on the point of breaking in, but changed his mind. Instead he observed Beate with interest. Two years ago a comment like that would have crushed her on the spot and he would have had to sweep up the pieces.
'As far as I know, no one was asking you,' Beate said, her cheeks still bright red. But since you feel that way let me give you an example I am sure you will understand.'
'Whoa,' exclaimed Skarre, holding his hands up in defence. 'That wasn't meant personally, Lønn.'
'When people die something called rigor mortis sets in.' Beate continued undeterred, but Harry could see her nostrils were flared. 'The muscles in the body, and in the face too, stiffen. It's the same as tensing muscles. And what is the typical reaction when the next of kin has to identify the corpse?'
In the ensuing silence all that could be heard was the hum of the projector fan. Harry was already smiling.
'They don't recognise them,' said a loud, clear voice. Harry had not heard Gunnar Hagen enter the room. 'Not an unusual problem in war when soldiers have to be identified. Of course, they're in uniform, but sometimes even comrades in their own unit have to check the dog tags to be sure.'
'Thank you,' Beate said. 'Did that help the grey matter, Skarre?'
Skarre shrugged, and Harry heard someone laugh out loud. Beate switched off the projector.
'The plasticity or mobility of the face is a very personal thing. To some extent it may be achieved through practice and to some extent, one has to assume, it's genetic. Some people cannot differentiate between the left and right sides of their face; others, with practice, can operate all the muscles independently of each other. Like a concert pianist. And that's called hyperelasticity or visage du pantomime. Known cases would suggest there is a strong genetic element. The ability was learned young or as a child and those who have an extreme degree of hyperelasticity often suffer from personality disorders – or have experienced terrible traumas while growing up.'
'So what you're saying is that we're dealing with a crazy man here?' Gunnar Hagen said.
'My area of expertise is faces, not psychology,' Beate said. 'But at any rate it cannot be excluded. Harry?'